


In Rags, In Robes, In Fig Leaves

by WolfieOnAO3



Category: Raffles (TV 1977), Raffles - E. W. Hornung
Genre: Best Friends, CLOTHES!, Fluff, Genderqueer, M/M, Romance, Romantic Fluff, True Love, Victorian Fashion, e.w. hornung, enbi bunny, genderqueer bunny, non-binary, raffles/bunny - Freeform, victorian cosmetics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:08:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25026709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfieOnAO3/pseuds/WolfieOnAO3
Summary: Carefully pulling back the crepe paper, the sight which met me made me catch my breath.Raffles had sent me a dress.Somewhat self-indulgent genderqueer Bunny fic.
Relationships: Bunny Manders/A. J. Raffles
Comments: 24
Kudos: 20





	In Rags, In Robes, In Fig Leaves

When I returned to my flat in Mount Street after a quiet, late lunch alone at my Club, I found a sizeable package waiting for me with the porter.

‘From Mister Raffles, sir,’ Johnson had informed me as he handed it over. ‘Or, at least, it came delivered with his card attached, in any case, sir.’ 

And indeed it had.

This came as a pleasant surprise, as Raffles had been away for the past month, playing cricket in the counties, and I hadn’t heard from him since the day he’d left. It was, however, the unexpected contact which came as a surprise rather than the parcel; A.J. often sent me both frivolous and thoughtful gifts for no reason other than that something had caught his eye and made him think of me. The frequency of such gifts did nothing, however, to lessen my joy at receiving them, and it was with a spring in my step and a ridiculous grin on my face that I tripped my way up the stairs to my rooms to open my plainly dressed package.

Throwing off my coat and hat, I locked my front door and tumbled eagerly into my sitting room. Knowing that A.J. often slipped notes between the paper of his gifts, I unwrapped the parcel as carefully as my eagerness would allow. And, sure enough, beneath the first layer of brown paper, and above a further layer of delicate crepe, lay a handwritten note, which read:

> _I’m sick to death of cricket. If I don’t play another match for the next ten years it’ll be too soon. ...Agreed to play up in Nottingham in four weeks from next Thursday. Hopefully other diversions shall make it worth my while, but to be perfectly frank even they are barely lessening the tedium, this season._
> 
> _The least agreeable thing -- and how many there are! -- of these blasted cricket tours is your absence, my dear chap. It’s one thing to be surrounded by “the cream of good society” all by oneself, and quite another to be so alongside the sweet converse of a not-so-innocent mind; a kindred spirit who can make great sport of it all along with you, through pointed looks and stolen whispers. Summer redundant, blueness abundant..._
> 
> _It is villainously selfish of me to wish you with me amidst such a listless Limbo as this,_ _I know; forced to commune by night and day with hoards of soulless spirits with not a speck of wit or imagination between the lot of them -- you’re better off out of it, Bunny! But it would be much more fun for me to have you about on some of the more dragging evenings. Oh, well, there are only a few days left of this particular purgatory before I can hot-foot it back to my far cosier little Inferno in the Albany, upon whose boards so oft tread, alongside those of my devilish self, the feet of Hell’s only angel. _
> 
> _I’ve missed you something wicked, rabbit._
> 
> _Dinner and a music hall, when I return?_
> 
> _As ever, yours,_ _  
> __A.J._
> 
> _P.S. I know I lack your expert eye, but still -- thought this rather fetching!_

The note alone gave me pause, as all personal correspondence penned by Raffles’ own hand always did. In spite of my excitement to discover what he had come across to send me this time, I found that I had to take a moment to overcome the dizzying wash of affection which flooded through me, head to toe, in reading his dearly _Raffles-ish_ letter. 

But I soon steadied myself once more and, setting aside the pretty little note -- which came as ever with one of his pen-and-ink landscape sketches on the reverse; complete with the little rabbit he always hid somewhere for me to discover -- I turned my attention back to the mysterious parcel.

Carefully pulling back the crepe paper, the sight which met me made me catch my breath.

Raffles had sent me a dress.

And a very _expensive_ dress, if I knew anything -- and at least where fashion was concerned, I felt confident that I most assuredly did. With the greatest of care I unfolded the swathes of material and held them up before me.

The main body of it was a deep, warm, pink; the colour of a hot summer’s sky at sunset, and was offset with black lace detailing. The front panel, from the high neck to the upper waist, was a lighter shade of pink, and was decorated with large black _polka dots_ , of all things--! and was segmented by a deep sash falling from the left shoulder down to the right-side waist, where it bunched and cascaded in a waterfall of satin, backed with the same black lace which encircled the waist and cuffs.

It was _beautiful_. 

Though it was certainly not a dress I should have picked for myself, it was one which I would no doubt have eyed wistfully from a distance, jealous of any woman who had the sophistication, confidence, charisma, and grace to pull off _such_ a garment. It was of the finest edge of fashion -- where A.J. could have picked up such a thing out in the rustic provinces I had no idea; it looked as though it could have been delivered direct from Paris itself. I’d never even _held_ such a beautiful piece of clothing, let alone _owned_ one--! Even in my school days when I had been routinely and inevitably cast as one of the female leads in the annual school play, none of my costumes had been a patch on this. Ophelia could only _dream_ of being decked out in something so lovely; Rosalind and Juliet didn’t stand a chance!

It had been during those schoolboy theatre days that I had first realised how deeply and _personally_ I appreciated women’s attire. My first year at that school, when I had been cast as Juliet, I had been mortified at the prospect of dressing as a _girl_ before all of the other boys -- and worse, their _parents_ ! But I found that my embarrassment soon waned the first night I was fully dressed, from hair to toes, in my costume, and found to my astonishment that I looked _right_. It _felt_ right. I had anticipated feeling out of my skin and uncomfortable, all gotten up as a girl, but instead being Juliet felt more natural to me than being in my rugby kit or my starched and itchy church clothes. Every year after that, the period of play rehearsals was one I dearly looked forward to -- aside from the one year I was, to my great disappointment, cast as _Puck_ instead of my auditioned role of Helena. The year after I’d left they’d put on a production of _Twelfth Night_ , which irritated me to no end, as I’d always thought I’d have made a singularly excellent Viola. 

Upon leaving school, circumstances conspired to leave me quite alone in the world and in possession of a not insubstantial fortune to do with as I wished. My profligacy with money has by now become a byword, so it shouldn’t surprise anyone to hear that some of that money and newly-found freedom was spent, among many, _many_ other things, on buying a small number of pretty, demure dresses -- and all of the associated accoutrements one might think of, from corsets and stockings to curling irons, face powder, and rouge. For is it not a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of an evening gown?

These few modest items of clothing were, in fact, some of the only items I didn’t have a bill of sale on when I finally entered into dire straits -- in part because I daren’t admit to owning them, and in part because I loved them so much, and in such an intense, though hazy and indefinable, way, that I couldn’t bring myself to pawn them, even as ruin threatened to put a bullet through my head. Parting with them felt as though I would be parting with some intrinsic part of _myself_.

A.J. had stumbled upon them in my wardrobe early on in our renewed friendship, whilst stashing away a selection of hot silver he wanted to cool off before taking to a fence. I’d given him free run of my rooms -- I believe I, in my ever too forward way, had even made so bold as to give him a key to the place -- and in going through my wardrobe he had come across my dresses boxed up on the top shelf. I’d found the inquisitive devil sitting on my bed with them laid out before him.

‘Are these yours, Bunny?’ he’d asked me when I’d wandered in with a cup of coffee and an offer of assistance.

‘Raffles!’ I had cried, nearly dropping the coffee. ‘What are you-- Where did you find those?’

‘In the wardrobe,’ he’d said to me, the complete embodiment of casual and friendly nonchalance. ‘I say, these are much nicer than your suits, Bunny. I didn’t know you had such good taste. The embroidery on this green one is nothing short of a work of art.’

‘I-- Thank you.’ 

He glanced between me and the garments with a curious smile. ‘Yes. Yes, I can just see you in these, Bunny.’

‘Can you?’ I said, weakly.

‘Yes,’ he said again, still wearing that discerning smile which sent a shiver down the back of my neck. ‘I can remember your Juliet, back at school. It sat well on you, even then. Well!’ said he, suddenly leaping to his feet and conscientiously placing my dresses back in their boxes. ‘I still need to find a place for this loot! Any thoughts, Bunny? I’m having a devil of a time finding any place that it’ll fit, though I can’t quite bring m’self to complain about being in possession of _too much_ silver--!’

And he had said no more about it. That was A.J. backwards and forwards, though. Art for art’s sake and beauty for beauty’s sake were his catchwords, and distinctions of class, of sex, and of wealth were all irrelevant. His disdain for the conventions of society were matched only by his joy in seeing himself and others flout them. It made me blush to think I’d even for a moment worried he would think any less of me.

Still, I had never made so bold as to actually _wear_ any of those clothes in front of him. 

After spending many minutes in enraptured inspection of the unimpeachable dress which Raffles had sent me, I decided to waste no time in trying it on. That it would fit I had little doubt -- A.J. had all of my measurements, as he had purchased a few suits for me from a tailor he particularly liked over in Cambridge.

Double checking that I had locked the door, and pulling the already drawn curtains more closely together, I darted enthusiastically into my bedroom, divesting myself of my jacket and waistcoat as I went. I was a quick hand at dressing and undressing myself in the garb of men and women alike -- though I admit that women’s clothing, _particularly_ corsetry, is a damn sight more complicated and time consuming to get into than even the most uncooperative of starched cuffs and collars. But before long I had tied the last tie and smoothed the last crease, and found myself before the full length mirror on the back of my wardrobe door.

Raffles had chosen splendidly. The dress was perfect. It fitted me like a glove, and the colour complemented my complexion remarkably well, bringing out the gold in my hair and the green in my eyes. The cut and the drape of it sat beautifully, creating an illusion of the hourglass figure I naturally lacked. 

It was a short step from there to completing the rest of my toilet. Why not, I said to myself? I had no plans for the evening, after all, and such a dress all but _demanded_ a polished look from head to toe. I had to see how I would look, all done up. I _had to_. 

I pulled my curling tongs out from beneath my bed, and stuck them in the small fire lighted in my bedroom to heat them up. My hair was not at its longest, just then, but the front was substantial enough to curl into a sweet, wispy fringe, and for the rest I had a ready-coiffed hair piece which matched my own hair colour with remarkable accuracy. 

I ran a cool, damp cloth over my face, and applied rosewater and sweet almond oil, followed by a dusting of pearlescent face powder -- my dressing gown draped over me, of course, to avoid marking the delicate fabric of my dress with errant spills. Coloured cosmetics were not the _done thing_ among most society ladies at that time -- or, at least, not among the more conventional and respectable of them -- but I didn’t care too much for that; after all, no one would see me, anyway. And so I applied a subtle tint to my lips of beeswax and carmine, staining them a delicate pink, before applying some of the same, though just the smallest pinch, to the apples of my cheeks. Castor oil next went onto my eyelids, along with the thinnest smudge of black powder to darken my near-translucent eyelashes, framing my not entirely unattractive eyes. The overall effect was subtle, but impactful.

With bated breath I returned to the wardrobe, closing my eyes before pulling open the mirrored door. I shrugged off my robe, hesitated for just a second, and then opened my eyes.

I am not a vain person, by any means. I have always considered my appearance to be decidedly average; I’m not unattractive, but I am also decidedly unremarkable, bearing the pleasant, amiable face of a thousand other young London men, and every bit as forgettable. As a lady I was slightly prettier, my soft, delicate features lending themselves to feminine beauty a little more than masculine handsomeness, but still I was nothing anyone should ever want to write home about -- had anyone ever seen me. 

But in that moment, in that dress which my Raffles had chosen for me, I felt as though I looked exactly how I ought to; there was nothing I wanted to change or improve. And if nothing else, the mere _art_ of the thing staggered me. Owing quite to serendipity, my lip-colour matched the gown perfectly, and the white rose which I had in an inspired moment ripped unceremoniously from the vase on my sitting room table and placed in my hair, sat as a perfect foil to the richness of the black lace and deep pink satin. It was a sartorial masterpiece that wouldn’t have been out of place in the fashion plates of _The Repository_. I almost wished A.J. was there to see me; not merely for _me_ \-- though I _did_ look rather fetching -- but because I felt he, with his keen artistic eye, would appreciate the sheer _aestheticism_ of my ensemble as a piece of _art._

It was at that point that I heard a sharp knock at my door.

My knees buckled and I almost fell to the floor as surprise turned to panic. I scrambled for my dressing gown and half-began dragging it on before I remembered that I had locked the door and was under no obligation to answer it. Who could be calling on me I had no idea, but I was not in the habit of keeping particularly regular hours, and if the porter had told my unwanted guest that I was in, well, porters were not unknown to have been mistaken, were they? All I had to do was sit tight until they went away again. But still, my rabbit heart was _racing_ in my chest as I perched on the edge of my bed, one arm in my robe, the other wrapped protectively around myself.

‘Bunny? Are you there? It’s only me!’ called a voice I knew only too well from the other side of the door.

‘Raffles!’ I called back in relief, before realising that now I had made my presence known to him, I would have to let him in or make up some ridiculous excuse why I couldn’t. I cursed myself under my breath.

‘Yes, only me, old boy,’ he answered with a chuckle. ‘You’re not hiding from your creditors _again_ , are you, Bunny? My dear lad, how you burn through money so fast is beyond me. I thought I was--’ he paused. ‘Are you going to let me in, or shall I continue talking to the door?’

‘Um.’ I dithered, now standing close to the door and half-whispering through the keyhole. ‘I’m-- I’ve just gotten out of the bath,’ I said, stupidly. ‘I’m not decent. Can you wait a bit?’

‘Caught you _in flagrante_?’ he laughed, keeping his voice low. ‘Never worried you before, Bunny. I say, you don’t have anyone else in there with you?’

‘What! No! Of course not!’ I cried. Shifting from foot to foot, I reluctantly came to a conclusion. ‘Look, do you still have your key?’

‘Yes?’

‘Well-- Let yourself in, then!’ And with that I dashed back into the inner rooms where I would be out of view from the outer hall when he opened the door.

He did so in short measure, and I heard his light footsteps as he walked into my hallway.

‘Lock the door behind you!’ I shouted to him, still hiding behind the open sitting room door, all but pressed up against the far wall.

Raffles did so without question, and I watched his shadow creeping beneath the door as he walked slowly into the room.

‘I must say, this is all very mysterious, Bunny,’ he said, entirely more good-naturedly than I would have been had our situations been reversed. ‘What’s the game, rabbit?’

‘Stop! Stay where you are,’ I said as he walked into the middle of the room, his back facing me. ‘Just-- stay there. Don’t move. And for the love of God don’t turn around.’

‘Bunny!’

‘Please! I-- What are you doing _back_?’ I couldn’t stop myself from asking. ‘Your note said you’d be days away, yet!’

 _Ah_ ,’ he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. ‘And things begin to grow clearer... The Great British Postal Service, Bunny, whilst terribly efficient chaps, are not capable of instantaneous delivery _quite_ yet. It _was_ to be a few more days until my return, when I sent that little parcel. I assume it and I both arrived in London _today_?’

‘Yes,’ I murmured, feeling my cheeks growing hot; feeling every inch the fool. 

‘Can I take a look at you, Bunny?’ he asked, still facing away from me as I had bidden.

If he had moved to steal a look at me or in any way disregarded my petulant demands, I would have turned him out on the spot with my hands roughly jammed over his eyes. But his patient, respectful pandering to my request, and the gentle, quiet voice in which he had made his own broke any resolve I might have held.

I sighed. ‘Oh… _Fine_. But don’t laugh. Or-- _say anything_.’

Raffles moved, then paused, and I heard him take a short breath. And then he turned around to face me, and my ears grew so hot that I was surprised they didn’t spontaneously combust on the spot.

I immediately dropped my eyes to the floor as he looked at me, not wanting to see his face; but I couldn’t help but hear the startled gasp which escaped from his lips. 

‘Oh _Bunny_ ,’ he said beneath his breath.

I risked glancing up at him, self-conscious and embarrassed as I was, and the collection of expressions I found upon his face made me feel a thousand times worse.

‘I had to try it on,’ I muttered, fiddling with the lace of my cuff, willing the ground to swallow me up. ‘Just to-- to see if it fit. I didn’t know you’d show up.’ 

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘No-- I-- Yes, I suppose you-- you had, really, hadn’t you? To-- try it on. It’s-- I-- You-- Well. I see that it does… fit.’ He stumbled over his words in a very un-A.J.-like fashion; I must have looked _ridiculous_ to him. Little wonder he could think of nothing to say. ‘And it-- I-- Yes. It certainly fits.’

I tucked an errant curl behind my ear, and said nothing, wishing I could just take the damned thing off and forget about it. Wishing I’d never put the damned thing _on_. Wishing Raffles had never _sent it!_

A.J. carried on staring at me, his eyes raking me from crown to foot and back again.

‘ _What?_ ’ I half-hissed, becoming impatient in my discomfort. 

‘Bunny, I know you said I mustn’t say anything but-- but my dear thing, you look-- You _are..._ _beautiful!'_

‘I-- What?’ I blinked.

‘Oh, I knew it would suit you when I saw it, you’ve just the right colouring for it, but--! Oh, my dear rabbit. You’re a... a work of _art!_ ’

‘ _Be_ _autiful_?’ I echoed, stupidly, as my mind slowly began to catch up with his words. ‘ _Me_?’ 

With that, slowly, tentatively, as though approaching a true wild rabbit he was afraid to scare off, A.J. took a few steps closer to me. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘you.’ He lifted his hand to my face, and placing his thumb beneath my chin gently tilted my head until I was looking up at him. 

‘...I found the rabbit,’ I babbled, overcome, and at a loss for what else to say. ‘In your sketch. It was behind the far fence, next to the cricket ball.’

‘Well spotted,’ he chuckled, eyes glittering and as dark a blue as a twilight sky. ‘You've got a good eye!’

‘It wasn’t that hard to find,' I replied weakly.

‘Ah, well, rabbits are tricky things to hide,’ said he with a dancing smile, his hand dropping from my face to my shoulder and drifting down my arm to take my hand in his. ‘You see, no matter where you put them, they tend to hop right out into the foreground and steal absolutely all of your attention, little thieves that they are. In fact, rabbits are quite notorious for stealing _hearts_ , too. I thought I'd misplaced mine, whilst I was away, but-! I see you've had it here all along!'

In spite of my residual nervousness at being so unexpectedly _seen_ , I couldn't help but laugh at him, as no doubt, he intended. 'Are you trying to _charm_ me, Raffles?'

'Is it working?'

'A bit.'

'A bit!'

'A bit more than a bit, actually.'

'...I missed you, Bunny.'

Something inside me melted at his suddenly frank words, and all self-conscious anxiety I had felt washed away. How could it not?

‘A.J., I -- _Thank you_. I-- Not just for the dress-- or, that is, for the dress, but not _the dress_ , but for-- for not... For understanding. For not making me feel-- like I'm _wrong._ Broken, or deviant or-- I don't know. Any of those other things people say. Not that _you_ ever would, but-- _Thank you._ '

A.J.’s brow crumpled, and his breath hitched, and he murmured my name beneath his breath as he pulled me, willingly, into a warm, enveloping embrace. With his arms wrapping around me, my face ending up somewhere between his shoulder and his neck, his face buried in the side of my head, I mumbled with a mouth full of his collar,

‘Wrtch by hrr!’

‘What?’

I leaned back far enough to look at him. ‘I said, " _watch my hair!"_ You'll crush my rose.'

He laughed and looked down at me in playful, half-sincere seriousness, and made a show of straightening the locks he had dishevelled in his impetuous clinch. ‘There we go,’ he smiled. 'All fixed.' And he kept on smiling down at me in such a wistful, admiring, affectionate, way that I thought he might keep me wrapped up in that corner forever unless I said something.

Accordingly, I waited a few more moments before speaking.

‘When did you get back? Have you eaten, yet?’

A.J. blinked slowly. ‘Hm? What? Oh. Oh!’ He cried aloud suddenly on that last _Oh!_ and clapped a hand to his forehead. 

‘What?'

‘I made us dinner reservations, and got tickets for the theatre afterwards! I’d completely forgotten, what with...’ His gaze drifted over me once again, and then he caught himself. ‘No! Time for that later--! Come on, Bunny, if we hop in a cab now we’ll still get there in good time to eat and not miss the start of the performance.’

‘Oh! Give me half an hour to get ready and we’ll go.’

‘Get ready? You look quite ready to me, my dear rabbit.’

‘What!’ It was now my turn to cry aloud. ‘You can’t seriously expect me to go _out_ like _this!_ ’

‘Why not?’ he asked, and he seemed perfectly sincere, although one never can tell with him.

 _‘Why not!_ A.J, I don’t know if it’s escaped your notice, but I am wearing an _evening gown!_ ’

‘Yes? It’s evening, is it not?’

‘But I’m a-- I look _ridiculous!_ ’

‘Not a bit of it, Bunny.’

‘A.J…’

He gave me a long, luminous stare which seemed to pierce straight into the heart of me. Taking one of my hands in both of his, he said, with breathtaking sincerity, ‘Bunny, you are _perfect._ You hear me? Exactly how you are, any way you are. You look... _beautiful_ , and much more elegant than half of the lifelong society ladies I've come across in my time! That dress is as right on you as it would be on any one of them; far more so than most of them, in fact! I promise you, you have -- nothing -- to worry about. If you really don't want to go out, then by all means we won’t; but for my part I could ask for nothing better than stepping out with you, the _effervescent Ms Manders_ , on my arm -- and _openly_ as my companion. If only for one night.’

I frowned as his words sank in.

‘...Openly?’

He nodded.

'You and me? Together? As... _Together?'_

'For _all the world to see_ , my beloved rabbit.'

‘And you don’t think people would... know?’

He shook his head. ‘Not a chance of it.’

I bit my lip. ‘You’re certain?’

‘I wouldn’t risk a thing like that, rabbit, not when it’s your neck on the line as much as mine. And the reservations are at a new place over the other side of town; no one knows me there. Not that it would make a difference even if they did.’

I thought about it. 

I didn’t need to think long.

‘All right. Let’s do it. Let's go out. To hell with it.’

A.J’s eyes lit up, and the smile he gave me was in itself both cure and reward for any nerves I might have felt. ‘You’re sure? We don’t have to?’

‘I want to. And what right-minded lady could pass up the offer of an evening on the arm of the great _A.J. Raffles_ ,’ I laughed, suddenly full of myself. Suddenly full of _myself_.

‘Right, then!’ he beamed down at me, looking more elated than I’d seen him look in a long while. ‘Ah! I almost forgot! Good Lord, Bunny, you do drive a poor chap to distraction--’ 

He turned from me and reached into his inner pocket, removing with flourish a string of dazzling pearls. 

‘Here we go! _These_ will rather complete the look, don’t you think? They’ll match that white rose quite admirably. Pull the whole thing together. What do you say?’

Of course, I agreed, and Raffles fastened the necklace around my neck, the brush of his fingers against my skin and the warmth of his breath as it fell upon my cheek making me nearly regret not insisting that we stayed in.

‘There we go,’ he said softly, turning me to face him. ‘Perfect.’ He cleared his throat and shook his head dazedly, extending his elbow to me. ‘Right then, my dear Juliet, are we ready to leave?’

‘Oh God, not _Juliet_ , A.J.’

‘But that was the--’

‘I _know_ ; but it’s a bit inauspicious, isn’t it? They both end up _dead_ …’

He laughed. ‘Then what, my dear rabbit, would you like me to call you?’ he asked as he led me to the door. 

‘...Viola seems appropriate.’

‘By Jove, Bunny -- or, I should say, _Viola_ \-- doesn’t it just!’ he exclaimed. ‘Beautiful and clever; I’ll be the envy of every single man in town. And every married one!’

‘Shut up,' I laughed. 'Come on, or we’ll not have time to eat. You must be famished if you've not stopped, yet.’

I moved to open the front door, but Raffles stayed my hand. ‘Ah... Bunny?’

‘What?’

‘Nothing. Just… Would it ruin your--’ he waved his hand in front of his face, ‘--if I were to kiss you? Only I’ve being fairly champing at the bit to do just that from the moment I heard your voice through the door, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to restrain myself all evening if I have to wait. And what sort of reputation will I get then, kissing attractive women at will and in public?’

‘Little worse than you already have,’ I said, grinning. ‘But, if it eases your pain...’

I reached up, taking his face gently in my hands, and I kissed him, slowly and with intent. 

‘I’ve missed you too, by the way’ I whispered, resting his forehead against mine and brushing our noses together with a smile as he sighed. 'And... thank you again, Raffles. No, I know you don't want me to keep saying it, and I _know_ I shouldn't expect any less of you, but-- 

‘I _love_ you,’ Raffles interrupted me, tilting his head to catch my eye, making sure I was listening, ‘whether you're in an evening gown, or in a morning suit, or in the disguise of a Cockney ruffian. In rags, in robes, in _fig leaves_ , my unrivaled rabbit. I love _you_.’

My heart near enough stopped beating in my chest, but I regained enough of my wits to turn them loose on him. ‘ _Mister Raffles_ , I'm afraid that if you don’t stop talking and take me to dinner right this moment, I’m not going to _let you leave_ \--!'

He beamed back at me, his smile as dazzling as ever it was, and offered his arm once more.

‘Tempting as that offer is, you're quite right -- I’m _famished_. And I have such a collection of grievances to air from this last tour. I’ve been pinning them like butterflies, my dear girl, just so that you can listen to me retell them and empathise _ex post facto_. I’ve really had the devil of a time of it, being polite, and charming, and not drowning anyone in their soup, you know.’

I laughed at him, opened the door, and, with his arm wrapped recklessly about my waist, let him lead me down and out into the bright, twinkling, promising night.


End file.
